Page 56 of Retrograde
He stopped in the doorway to the living room, knocked for six as he watched Lucie tie her hair up. She was wearing denim dungarees and a white cropped top, her feet bare. She looked like she should be in a home makeover show.
She pulled her brunette hair off her face, exposing herneck and the dainty gold chain he’d got her for her twenty-first birthday. Every time he saw her wearing any of his gifts, it felt like for a split second, she belonged to him.
‘Woah! What you doing, Carolan?’ He made his presence known as she went to move the sofa. It was huge and there was not a chance on this earth she was strong enough to move it on her own without pulling a muscle.
‘It’s in the way and I need to paint.’ She tugged on one end of it.
‘Luce, stop!’ Brett yelled. ‘Let me help you.’ He picked up the other end and together, they moved it to the middle of the room and covered it with a dust sheet.
She stood upright and scowled at him, but he could tell it wasn’t her serious scowl. It was merely frustration at herself, and as her eyes scanned his body, he couldn’t help the smirk that made its way onto his face. ‘Where’s your shirt?’
‘It’s eighty-one degrees outside.’ He defended his outfit choice, or rather lack of, using Fahrenheit to suit her American upbringing.
‘Signore, abbi pietà,’ she muttered. Brett didn’t know any Italian, despite Lucie trying to teach him for years. She had grown up fluent, but her siblings hadn’t quite got the hang of it so the Carolans spoke English at home. Lucie just liked to use it when she didn’t want him to know what she was saying, except she’d said that phrase so many times that he’d looked it up.
‘Mmhmm, and why do you need the Lord to have mercy, Carolan? Can’t handle the view?’ He put his hands on his hips, standing tall before her.
‘I’m just saying,’ she mumbled as she struggled to peel the lid off the paint, ‘I would probably get more work done if you were fully clothed. I’m just a girl. I get distracted by pretty things. Not that I’m saying you’re pretty, but you know…’ She gestured to his body.
‘It’s just as well you need a strong, physically fit athlete around to help, isn’t it?’ He took the paint pot from her and removed the lid with ease, revealing the milky off-white liquid that had been carefully selected by Rosa. ‘I’ve got to put all my gym training to good use this season since I’m not behind the wheel.’
That was the wrong thing to say. He’d been in a decent mood when he’d stepped into the room and seen her, but one sentence and she was looking at him with pity. He couldn’t stand it. So, ignoring her expression, he picked up a paintbrush and got to work.
‘Brett–’ Lucie spoke, and he could practically hear her swallow the lump in her throat.
‘Don’t. If I’m going to get through this, I need you to be strict with me. Yell at me, fight me on everything. I can’t afford for you to be soft on me, Luce.’
‘I was just going to say you’re painting wrong.’
With his back to her, he let himself smile. That was the Lucie he wanted. ‘How can there be a wrong way to paint?’
‘Like that.’ She laughed as she came up beside him, showing him the correct way to do it. As far as he was concerned, their methods were identical. He looked at her, puzzled, then flung the paintbrush around the wall in haphazard movements, making a mess of their work.
‘Brett!’
‘What?! It’s white, it’ll blend easily.’ He went back to the paint and dipped the brush in, his eyes sparkling with childlike delight when an idea struck.
‘You’d better hope it does, Anderson.’ Lucie carried on painting, oblivious to what he was plotting. ‘What the hell?’ she screeched.
Brett stood there, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he admired his handiwork. Paint was splashed all up the wall. ‘Oops.’
‘Why would you do that? Do you know how much paint you just wasted?!’
He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance, as Lucie tried to roller away some of the excess and blend it out. And then, in an act of karma, Brett’s foot caught on a dust sheet. He grasped at thin air, but soon realised the only thing stopping him from falling as he slid on the wooden floor was the wall. The freshly painted wall.
He body-slammed it. Full on, arms splayed out, chest sticking to it. He knew his Stone Island shorts were goners, but when he heard Lucie’s laugh, he lost the ability to care. Brett rarely got to experience moments like this. Moments of pure, unadulterated fun with no responsibilities, no judgement, nobody telling him to grow up.
‘Anderson!’ Lucie squealed as he darted towards her and grabbed her around the waist from behind, covering her with paint. He picked her up and hauled her over his shoulder, taking her back to the paint pot and pretending to dip her in it like she was a paintbrush. ‘Okay,okay!’ He put her down and stepped back to admire the finished product. Her dungarees would have to join his shorts as official farmhouse reno uniform.
He had tried to be spontaneous like this with Sienna, but there was always something stopping them. She was tired, she wasn’t in the mood, people were watching, he should act his age, he was never ‘cool’ enough for her. He was too goofy, too immature. But he just wanted them to seize the moment and have a little fun every now and then. Lucie, though,encouragedhim. Yet, he still wasn’t enough for her.
‘The state of the wall!’ Some time later, Mateo stopped in the doorway and gawked at the scene in front of him.
‘I’m so sorry, sir. It was my fault, I started it.’ Brett grimaced. The floors still needed to be replaced, and the furniture was covered up, but he still felt bad for the mess they’d created.
‘Oh, I don’t care about the mess!’ Mateo laughed a hearty laugh and shook his head good-naturedly. ‘As long as the painting is finished by the end of the day, it doesn’t bother me. I’ll be ripping up the old tiles in the master bathroom if you need me. But I suggest when you’re done, you wash yourselves down outside. There’s a hosepipe out by one of the barns.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ Lucie screeched again as she slipped on a puddle of paint.
